A Scandal in John Watson
by ThyPurpleLlama
Summary: Sherlock AU: A Scandal in Belgravia where John takes Irene's place. Dark!john. Mycroft wants important files from John Watson and gets his brother to retrieve them from him, however when sentiment becomes a part of both sides, it all goes wrong. One-shot for now, considering continuing for Johnlock reasons.


**A/N: Okay, so this is a kind of dark!john AU where John takes Irene's place in A Scandal in Belgravia. Many parts of it are extremely similar, but I do try to put my own twists in and my own dialogue. Sherlock works closely with Molly instead of John (But this is not a Sherlolly fanfic, no!) Sherlock doesn't live at 221B because he's not got John. Okay, so I hope this all sinks in and makes sense. Enjoy!**

* * *

"What do you know about this man?" Mycroft questioned, bending over minutely and passing Sherlock the small pile of paper.

The younger Holmes took what was offered and flipped through them quickly, needing only seconds to observe each image. With squinted, focused eyes, Sherlock hummed and shook his head. "Nothing at all." He answered, scrunching his brows together.

"John Watson." Mycroft interjected. "We have reason to believe he's a dangerous man, but that isn't the reason you're here." He added, smirking to himself. "He has a - what shall we call it? Facade. A cover-up. A side job, in which he got the images that you must retrieve."

It was only then that Molly turned her head to look. Since they arrived at Buckingham Palace she'd been completely dumbstruck, staring at every little detail with pure awe. She'd only met Mycroft on several occasions whilst working along side Sherlock and each time was stupidly dramatic, however this was the new number one on the imaginary list.

Her gaze fell upon the photos in Sherlock's grasp. _A man, quite small by the looks of it, sandy blond hair and probably late thirties, early fourties at most_. Her deduction skills were getting better, much better in fact, but they were nothing compared to Sherlock's.

Mycroft almost chuckled to himself when he spoke next. "Don't be alarmed, dear brother." His lips curling upwards slowly. "His _side job, _it involves sex."

"Sex doesn't alarm me." Sherlock stated a little too quickly, earning a short spout of laughter from his older brother and a wide-eyed stare from Molly.

"How would you know?" Mycroft asked, his sly smile not faulting at all during the small silence afterwards.

Molly kept her eyes locked on Sherlock. She'd always felt something for him, and she practically knew that he felt nothing more than appreciation towards her, that much was clear. Albiet, she'd never thought of the consulting detective in such a predicament. Sherlock and sex... it had never really been a thought of hers until now.

Quickly, she shook her head and mentally slapped herself. _No, Molly. You can't think like that. Not here, not now. Someone might notice. Stop staring!_

"Where is he?" Sherlock finally broke the silence, throwing the pictures onto the coffee table and getting up from his seat.

"I'll send you the address." Was all Mycroft said before he got to his feet too.

Sherlock nodded curtly and turned to the man beside him. "Can I borrow your lighter?"

The man furrowed his brows and squinted his eyes. "I - I don't smoke..."

"No," Sherlock huffed. _How boring of you. I know you don't smoke, don't state the obvious. _"But your client does."

After a moment of bemusement, the smaller man shoved his hand into his pocket and fished out said lighter, passing it the the mysterious dark-haired fellow towering over him.

With that, Sherlock left the room, leaving Molly to run in order to catch up.

When she got outside, Sherlock sat in the taxi, waiting for her and fiddling with his phone. With Molly in the cab, the consulting detective gave the driver the address that flashed up on his phone with impecable timing. _Mycroft, always so "perfect". _And then they were off.

Sherlock got the lighter from his pocket and thrust it into Molly's hand.

"Wh-what will _I _need this for?" She asked with confusion laced in her voice.

"Oh, I don't know. It might come in handy." Came the witty reply.

* * *

It wasn't long before Sherlock stopped the cabbie at an unknown location. Molly paid the fair and they exited the vehicle.

"Are we here?" Molly questioned in disbelief, following Sherlock down an alley.

"Couple of blocks down." He answered, turning around and pushing his face outwards. "Punch me - in the face."

"What?" Molly almost screamed with shock, taking a step back.

Sherlock sighed loudly and took another step forward. "Just punch me in the face!"

* * *

Sarah, John's assistant, ran to the answer machine on the wall as soon as she heard the buzz of the door bell.

"Hello?" She answered with a smirk as she watched the pathetic facade of Sherlock Holmes on the other end of the machine. His face was well modeled to show potential fear, but not good enough for the person of interest to hide their identity.

"Hello - yes - erm... could you help me please? I was - I've been attacked. Could you just let me in, please?" He stumbled over his words well and he sobbed a little at the end - _nice touch. _

Sarah hummed down the line before finally granting him access into the building.

As Sherlock came in he held out his hands. "O-oh, thank you!" He chimed.

Molly followed in behind him. "I was there, I seen it all happen. It was awful, God." She blabbed, her hands still shaking from their previous encounter.

"In the kitchen." Sarah spoke up. "First Aid kit." She cocked her head and watched Molly as she sprung into action, rushing for the kitchen. "You," she started again, carefully eyeing the tall, dark, yet innocent like man. "Go into the living room, get yourself comfortable while I ring the police." She smirked, pointed the a door and walked away up the stairs.

Sherlock done as he was told - for once - and entered the living room. It was pretty big. Two large white sofa's, a diamond candelabra hanging above a gold and glass coffee table, a well designed mantle place surrounding a - as he deduced - hardly used fireplace. Above that was a gold plated mirror, also quite large, reflecting his image.

He took a seat on one of the large sofa's, dabbing his small wound with a piece of cloth he picked out from his pocket.

Suddenly, the door creaked open and Sherlock spun his head, ready to thank Molly for the first aid appliances. However when his eye caught onto the figure at the door, he completely froze. A short man - clearly the one from the photographs - stood nobly in only underwear.

"I'm sorry," the blond apologised as walked in and took a seat on the coffee table in front of the injured man. "Sarah didn't catch your name." He smirked, watching the taller man's eyes wander his body. _Well done, Mr Holmes. You're getting it already. _

"It's er-" Was all Sherlock could muster up as his eyes continued to shoot from one thing on Watson's body to another.

"Sherlock Holmes?" The man offered, raising an eyebrow.

"John Watson, I presume?"

"Sorry about that, it took me a while to find-" Molly started, quickly cutting herself off at the sight of John Watson - almost naked.

For a short while, no one spoke. Sherlock observed John Watson but got nothing. Literally nothing. He worried for a moment, were his eyes deceiving him? He doesn't just get nothing from observing. He turned to Molly, _light make-up, trying to impress, clearly. Skirt to show her legs even when the weather's pretty dull, trying to impress further. White top. Very clean, obviously new. _With his mind at ease, he turned back to Watson, just to worry again when nothing new was apparent about him.

John laughed lightly. "Your disguise was never going to work. They never do. They're always just a _self portrait._" He got up from the table and sat him self on the adjacent sofa, leaning against the arm. "Somebody loves you." His eyes slipped to Molly for only a second before he concentrated on Sherlock's features again. "If I had to punch you in the face, I'd miss your nose and teeth, too."

"Er-" Molly choked out. "Could you, possibly, wear some actual clothes?" Her cheeks flushed light pink as she came into the room properly.

With a short, begging look from John, Sherlock stood up, took his coat off and passed it to him.

Molly watched with hidden envy. _I never get to wear his coat. Even when I'm cold. Not even at Christmas. _

"I know why you're here, Mr Holmes." John spoke nonchalantly, pulling the coat around himself tightly and sitting back down. "You're not getting the photographs so lets just chat shall we? How's your cases going? Got anything exciting?" He asked, a grin growing on his face. "I do love detective stories."

"Why do you think I would tell you about my cases?" He asked, squinting his eyes as he tried so hard to deduce anything about the man. sit beside him.

"Because, Sherlock Holmes. You're a show off."

"Molly, guard the door, make sure nobody gets in." Sherlock turned his head. Molly saw then, at that moment, a flicker of something in his eyes. Excitement? _No, I've seen that before. _Worry? _No, Sherlock doesn't get scared. _However, she nodded and left the room walking slightly away from the door do find a magazine.

With a sigh, she shoved her hands into her jacket pockets and her left hand hit something - the lighter. _Why would Sherlock give me this? Unless- Oh. _Oh.

Quickly, she took the lighter from her pocket and flicked the flame to life, the small orange fire enlighting the end of the rolled-up magazine in her hand.

"A loud noise can show anything. Especially-" Sherlock stopped speaking, cut off by the screaming smoke alarm, echoing round the large room.

John's face shot over to the mirror. _Shit. _

"Especially those people wish to protect. _Sentiment._" Sherlock smirked and walked over to the fireplace, finding a hidden button to raise the mirror and reveal a secret safe. _Of course, it was so obvious! _

"Molly, you can turn it off now!" He shouted through the closed door.

A muffled reply called back but it was hardly audible over the high pitched squealing of the surrounding alarms.

It wasn't long before they quietened and stopped abruptly.

"So... what's the code?" Sherlock mumbled to himself, collecting the information he could from the state of the buttons. _1. 1 and 2 and definitely used. Mainly 1. Sometimes 0._

"I'd tell you the code, Holmes. But I already have." John smirked at the befuddled look he earned from that.

Without another thought, the door burst open and Molly was thrown the floor, three men marching in behind her, guns at the ready.

"Open the safe, _please._" The main man hissed, pointing his own gun at the consulting detective.

"I don't even know the code." Sherlock admitted, his eyes slipping to Watson for only a moment.

"I don't believe that for a second, Mr Holmes. I know who you are and I know what you do. Now I'll say it again. Open. The. Safe."

"I can't." Sherlock spat.

"Get ready to shoot Hooper." The American spoke loudly, cocking his head to side to get a small glance at the petrified woman on the floor. "In three..."

"I can't open it, I don't know the code." Sherlock said calmly."

"Two."

"I really can't."

"One."

"Stop! Stop!" Sherlock huffed turning towards the safe and glancing at the buttons.

After a short while, he press numbers. _1, 8. 2, 1. 0, 6._

The safe clicked open.

Sherlock glanced at John, whose lips were curled up in amusement. _Well observed, Mr Holmes. One more thing..._

Sherlock opened the safe and ducked out of the way of the bullet with only milliseconds to spare, watching as it impaled the man above Molly Hooper through the head.

Watson turned and smacked the gun from the other man's hand and took it for himself, swapping their positions. All the while, Sherlock crashed his forearm to the side of the American's head causing him to fall unconsciously the floor. John shadowed the movement and the last man was down.

"Thank you." He said, eyeing Sherlock with a teasing smile.

Ignoring the gesture, Sherlock walked to the safe and put his hand inside to retrieve what he'd come for. _Nothing._

"What? Do you really think I'd leave it in an obvious hidden safe. How cliche." John laughed from behind, holding the camera phone in his hand. "I'm much more than just a sex icon, you know." He lifted his brow and smirked again.

He threw the phone into the coat pocket and circled Sherlock.

"I'm still pretty impressed that you got the code right, though. Well done." He whispered, into the tall man's ear. His breath tickling up the neck of the consulting detective. However, suddenly, a sharp pain soon replaced the heated breath as Watson injected a harmless drug into the sociopath's neck. "It's time to rest that big old head of yours now, though, Holmes." He whispered.

"What! What are you doing?" Molly jumped to her feet as Sherlock fell. She ran to his side and watched him carefully. "Jesus!"

"He'll just be tired, he'll sleep a while but he'll be okay." John giggled, leaving the room.

* * *

When Sherlock next woke up, he was in his room, flat out in his bed with the world spinning around him. A voice spinning in his head. A dark, yet seductive voice. 'I'll bring your coat back soon, Holmes.'

And with that, another seductive noise sounded, however this time it was real, a moan of a man who was clearly reaching his tipping point. Coming from his coat. _Oh. He'd come back. He'd returned the coat._

Sherlock stumbled from bed and waddled over to his coat, taking his phone from his pocket. It's screen shining brightly with a brand new text.

_'til next time, Mr Holmes - JW_

That wasn't the last text he got. God no, the texts were coming through almost constantly.

_Lets have dinner - JW_

_How are you? - JW_

_Do you miss me? - JW_

_We had fun before, lets have dinner. - JW_

And one time.

_You feeling better? - JW_

His phone chimed, Molly and Mycroft both looking in his general direction.

"What was that?" Molly asked, coughing out the awkwardness.

"That was my phone. A text." Sherlock answered the obvious with a short sigh.

"Yes, but why does it make that noise?" Molly further questioned, feeling her face flush a deep shade of red, though anyone else would see it as an envious green.

Avoiding the awkward conversation that would have led to, Sherlock turned to Mycroft.

"Who _is _John Watson? You said he was dangerous and he suggested that he wasn't just what he seems. Which is pretty obvious, honestly. However there was an American there, for the safe. Who is he? _What _is he?"

"_He _is no longer of your concern, brother, dear." Mycroft glared, then grew a smile as he turned on his heal and clicked his umbrella against the floor. "I must go, it's a busy life being the government and all." He grinned, leaving the small room that Sherlock seemed to call _home._ He'd always been keen on buying a flat in the center London, but he couldn't afford it on his own and it would be far too awkward moving in with Molly or Mike Stamford. So he stuck on his own in a little rundown house on the outskirts of the city, a perfect place to stay away from the public eye, in fact.

Sherlock walked over to his sofa, laid down and steepled his hands under his chin. _Who are you, John Watson? What is it you really are? What is it you really do? You're clearly important. Not a simple briber for money or fame. In fact it's like you want my attention, you're trying to impress me, aren't you Watson. _Sherlock would never admit it, but if that were the plan it was definitely working. _The scars. _That had been a part of his safe's code. _The amount of scars you have. You're proud of them, they're important, you like to show them off. Where did you get them? Some of them are old- from the war most probably, but the majority of them are new, as thought it's your job or your hobby. Maybe you're just rough, like the foreplay. _

Sherlock got up, frustrated, getting only a little bit further with his thoughts and stormed to his room to see if he could rest.

* * *

John Watson liked to keep secretive. It was fun. His life revolved around going against the rules and having fun. Laws didn't matter, not this day and age, they're there to be fondled with and that's what he did.

He loved the thrill of the chase and as soon as he was asked to play with Sherlock Holmes he was ready. So ready. He was as excited as a child at Christmas. That's what Sherlock was- his Christmas present from the boss.

"No shooting, John." The higher archy had told him. "I know that's what you like to do, but this one needs to be kept alive. Leave your arm at home."

He kept his word, of course. He was a loyal man, despite breaking the rules constantly. When it came to work and the fun and the thrill, he would do as he's told as best he could.

And he was having a lot of fun with Sherlock Holmes.

* * *

Molly was on her way to Sherlock's one day. He needed company. John hadn't been in contact with him for months. Three, maybe four now. He had been sent the camera phone at Christmas as a birthday present and Molly had seen the distraught in his eyes as he read the small piece of card attached to the box.

She hated to admit it, but Sherlock was hurt over this man. He had been invested in John Watson, figuring him out, what he was doing, who he was. Then all of a sudden it stopped. Sherlock would play his violin in deep, meaningful notes.

If she didn't know any better she would say he was heart broken, but he's Sherlock Holmes...

Molly was stopped by the call of her name.

"Molly." A woman's voice sounded. "Molly Hooper."

She turned quickly to find a woman she'd never seen before in her life. "Yes?"

It was at that moment a sleek black car pulled up. "I'll need you to get in, please."

"Mycroft, of course." Molly sighed, sliding into the car.

When she arived at the run-down building, she was taken through a thousand seemingly endless corridors until the woman who had first greeted her stopped and cocked her head, indicating for Molly to continue without her.

_So this is where Mycroft will be then. _Molly strolled into the dimly lit room and looked around.

"He's not coping, you know." She spoke loudly, allowing her voice to bounce around the large room. "He doesn't eat, hardly sleeps. I genuinely think he's being sentimental - but it's Sherlock, he doesn't feel - does he?"

A figure calmed walked out of the shadows, first as a silhouette, but each and every detail becoming easier to see with every step closer.

He stopped when the light shone on him perfectly, standing a good twenty meters away, at least.

"John Watson..." Molly's voice suddenly quiet from lack of belief. "You have got to talk to him." She spat out, not at all wanting to, because she was jealous, God damn it she was so jealous. "You need to get in contact with him again."

"What's the fun in that?" John grinned.

"Talk to him." Molly threatened, feeling a sudden wave of protectiveness.

Ignoring her, John's smile dropped. "I sent Sherlock my most prized possession and now I want it back."

"No."

"I _need _it back."

"Talk to him, Watson! He think's you're dead, he doesn't know what's happened and you're here laughing about him! Stop this and talk to him!"

"I can't." He sighed. His facade dropping for the first time since they'd met all those months ago.

"Then I will and don't think I'm getting that camera phone back for you." Molly turned and walked towards the exit. _How could he think I'd betray Sherlock's trust like that? I'm nothing like him. I don't even know what or who he is but he's hardly trustworthy-_

"What do I say?" John questioned, pulling a phone from his pocket.

"What do you usually say? You used to text him _all the time!_" Molly almost screamed, turning back to the blond man in the dark.

"Just usual stuff."

"Usual? I don't think anything you two will say is _usual_." Molly scoffed, holding back the sarcastic laughter.

"Well, it's hardly the two of us," John remarked, scrolling through old texts. "He never replies."

Molly took that in for a moment. _He replies to me, ha! _

"Maybe that makes me special."

Molly mentally slapped herself - and John in the process. "Yeah, maybe."

"You jealous?" John smirked, laughing lightly through his nose. Before Molly could reply, John continued. "I usually just asking him for dinner, when I'm both hungry and when I'm not. Sometimes it's a simple greeting and other times I asked polite questions. Though mainly dinner."

"You _flirted _with Sherlock Holmes?" Molly asked, her teeth gritted as jealousy was exploding in her mind.

"Like I said, he never replied, so we hardly flirted _together._" Watson laughed, typing away at his phone.

"By the way, I'm not _jealous._" Molly added in the short interlude of silence. "I'm simply do not feel anything towards Sherlock Holmes." She stood tall, chin up, attempting to look believable.

John tapped the 'send' button on his phone and glanced up at Miss Hooper. "Well, I _do._" He smirked again, bearing his teeth in the process.

Abruptly, a moan broke the silence from a short distance away. The sound echoing quickly around the room. _Sherlock._

Molly ran forward to defend her consulting detective but John through his arms out.  
"I don't think so. Do you?"

* * *

About three weeks later and 21 texts later, Sherlock walked into his room to be quickly shocked by the sight in his bed. _John._

"Sherlock?" Molly asked with a concerned look as Sherlock stood frozen in his bedroom. When she entered the room too, it suddenly dawned on her why he reacted the way he did. "_Oh._"

Several hours later, John emerged from Sherlock's bedroom wearing his silk blue dressing gown. His hair was a little messy and he had bags under his eyes, yet he still managed to look attractive.

"Morning, hunny." He laughed walking into the kitchen and turning the kettle on like he lived there.

Molly watched him carefully the whole time, not being able to stop the hateful glare she created.

"Give me it, Sherlock." John demanded, walking into the living room and towering over him. "My camera phone."

"Show me." Sherlock told him, wanting to see the pictures and other files for himself.

The blond only smiled at the choice of words and undone the dressing gown pulling it open slowly, revealing his infamous red pants.

"You know what I mean." Sherlock glared, moving his eyes back up to John's.

"Oh - I'm sorry." He laughed holding out his hand to take the phone.

Sherlock had thought about trying to trick Watson, getting a fake phone and making him type the right password into the wrong phone. It would have worked perfectly, had he of known who the hell John Watson was.

He reluctantly held out the phone and passed it to Watson, who fondled with the device for a moment before typing the password in and unlocking the phone.

Instead of the pictures, he opened a file with numbers and letters.  
"Here you go, Mr Detective Man. Solve this one."

Sherlock scrunched his brows together and took the camera phone back into his posetion, searching thoroughly for hidden messages and meanings.

It took him less than five seconds to deduce and show off that it was in fact aeroplane details: the seats, the number flight.

John nodded and smiled. "Wow, you're _amazing, _Mr Holmes." He mocked.

"I know." Came the reply.

"I would have you right here on this desk until you begged for mercy twice." John drawled, staring into the ever-changing eyes of Sherlock Holmes.

"I've never begged for mercy in my life."

"_Twice._"

Molly coughed awkwardly, looking on the internet. "You were right." She confirmed, looking at the details online.

Later that night, Molly had gone out after Sherlock requesting more milk for tea as he'd contaminated his current carton. Leaving John and Sherlock alone. _Now I can find out who and what you really are, Watson._

It was getting late when Molly had gone out and since it was early January, they had the fire on to keep warm in the freezing atmosphere.

Sherlock and John kept close, on arm chairs in front of the crackling fire.

"You have questions." John finally spoke, his eyes flicking between the dancing fire and the thinking detective.

"Who are you?" Sherlock breathed out a gust of air that he hadn't realised he was holding in.

"John Watson." The blond replied with a serious face. "I didn't lie about that."

"Who are you _really?_" Sherlock turned his head to lock their eyes together. "_What_ are you?"

"Oh, please. You make me sound like some kind of animal. Though, I _could _be, if you wanted." He smirked. "I'm just an interested party."

"There's much more to it than that." Sherlock sighed.

"Is there?" John grinned. After a short silence, John got up and kneeled down in front of the taller man. Placing his hands on Sherlock's arms. "Sometimes, I think you think too much."

Sherlock was momentarily speechless, staring into the unreadable blue eyes of John Watson.

"Lets do something." John suggested, barely above a whisper. "Don't worry, it doesn't have to be indelicate." He stifled a laugh at his words.

"What, like dinner?" Sherlock mocked, his face not dropping from its usual deadpan look.

"Are you offerring?"

"I'm not hungry."

"We can still get dinner." John smirked, a lopsided smile which would be adorable to anyone normal, but Sherlock Holmes is anything but normal. He watched Watson's eyes as he fiddled around with John's wrists, holding them firmer and dropping his voice an octave.

"Why would I have dinner with you... if I'm not hungry?" He questioned, their faces inching closer subconsciously.

"Oh, come on. If it was just you and I in this big old dangerous world... Would you have dinner with me?" John's smile grew and his whispers quietened.

"Sherlock!" Molly's voice sounded from the front door as it slammed shut.

"Too late." John's mouth thinned out in a line as he retreated back to the vacant arm chair.

"Sherlock, this man followed me in..." Her face showed fear as she entered the room. "Says he's here to take you away again."

* * *

"Sherlock, I told you that John was no longer of your concern and you ignored me." Mycroft said as calmly as possible.

"Of course I ignored you."

"I don't know what you did or how you did it, but you have spilled one of the most important secrets of the British government." He sighed loudly, stopping the erge to smash something or throw a fit. "And you gave that information to the worst possible party."

Sherlock felt a little bit of guilt for only a moment before it clicked.

"Say that again." He demanded.

"Sherlock!" Mycroft spoke harshly, clearly enraged. "You made the worst possible bloody decision! You messed up tremendously and it'll be hard to fix it! _Very_ hard!"

"No, I mean, say that last sentence again..."

Mycroft sighed, but complied nonetheless. "You gave that information to the worst possible party." He repeated.

_Party... worst possible party. _Sherlock thought. Then it hit him.

"John. John's in with the worst possible party?" He thought for a moment. "And who might his party be?"

"Jim Moriarty sends his love." John interjected as he enterred the room.

Sherlock's eyes shot to him, if for only a second he could show the pain, it would ruin everything. So he hid it.

"Of course. Moriarty."

"So you can keep the camera phone. I just want what I can have." John spoke to Mycroft as he sat himself on the large dining room-like table.

"And what is it you want?" Mycroft questioned.

"Oh, I'm not sure it's _that_ easy." The blond removed his eyes from the elder Holmes and placed them elsewhere. "I should be getting something the boss wants, but I don't want that anymore." He paused, then turned to Mycroft again. "I'll be in touch."

"No." Sherlock spoke up.

"No?" The other two questioned simultaneously.

"You got far too involved in a game that was made for you to play not to rule." He said, getting up and walking closer to the short man. "You think you can play with your own rules but not in this game, no. This was a very cleverly constructed game. You either went with the rules and succeeded, getting what Moriarty wanted, or you failed and got killed, it wouldn't have bothered him. Or you go against his rules due to that one little thing and it slips up the whole plan, it's like his trigger warning, he practically told me what the password was because that's the rules, Watson."

Sherlock took the phone from Mycroft's hand and held it firmly as John spoke.

"What little _thing_?" he asked almost harshly.

"Sentiment."

"What," the blond scoffed. "You think I really had feelings for you?" He looked from one of Sherlock's eyes to the other, observing carefully. Trying to feed him a different story.

"I don't think. Oh, no, you said yourself I think too much. No, this time I observed." He drawled, grabbing John's wrist and getting intimately close, feeling the body heat radiating from the breaking blond. Allowing it to happen again. "I took your pulse," he whispered into Watson's ear. "It had increased. Your pupils - dialated."

When he pulled back, John's face had crumbled. It was all apparent now, even when he knew it was true because he'd seen it, it all made sense to him even more. Seeing it there, right in front of him. It hurt. For the first time in a long time, it hurt.

"I could shoot you both right here and I wouldn't miss."

"You could." Sherlock spoke barely above a whisper, "but you wouldn't."

He typed out the password slowly and teasingly. _S, H, E, R. _Pressing the main button on the phone, it unlocked.

Then he shoved the phone into Mycroft's hands and then stared into John's soul.

"Sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side." He spoke, before turning on his heal and walking away.

"It is. It's a dangerous thing. _Sentiment. _I've not felt it before, not really anyway." John admitted. Now that his whole facade had shattered, he might as well just be himself. "It feels amazing, though. The thrill and the excitement. Sherlock, the chase. You can't say it wasn't fun."

Sherlock kept quiet. He had nothing more to say.

John headed for the door and stopped in his tracks.  
"Goodbye, Mr Holmes."

* * *

**A/N: Well, I hope you enjoyed. I don't particularly like where I ended this so I might add an extra little chapter and give you genuine Johnlock fluffliness because Johnlock is my OTP and they should be every ones and they're adorable. I hate to ask, but could at least a couple of you review, tell me whether I should add an extra chapter? I have an idea so it's definitely possible.**

**Anyway, thank you for reading. I _really _hope you enjoyed!_  
_**


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